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There went his gut again, clenching.
But you gotta keep praying until this knot goes away.
His throat thickened.I’m sorry, Fraser.He’d gotten his brother into this mess.
At least once he’d picked up his phone to call his parents, but really, what was he going to say? He had no proof Fraser was dead.
Except, of course, the dread in his soul.
But maybe he was right about the praying part.
God, please, give me wisdom. Keep Shae alive. Help me do this terrible thing…
No, that didn’t feel right.
Sorry. But he couldn’t take it back. Not when he was in this far over his head.
The sun was just sinking into the surrounding mountains, casting long shadows on the complex—not much security, but then again, their status as “inactive” created its own form of security. Still, a chain-link fence with rolled barbed wiring encircled the compound with plenty of open space between the forest and the grounds. High lights, probably motion-operated. In the middle, like a keep, a number of buildings surrounded a massive center tower that housed an elevator that led to the deep salt mines under the earth.
2,755 feet deep, to be exact.
But probably, the caesium-137 hadn’t been moved to the depths yet. Ned’s best guess was that it still sat in one of the concrete temporary storage buildings, right where the team had left it.
He didn’t see any armed guards—but a security officer at the gate checked passes as workers moved in and out during the day.
He reached for the ham sandwich in his pack, something he’d picked up in Wittenberge, some thirty clicks away. He’d also refreshed his water and washed his face. A couple bruises from the licks he’d taken, but nothing serious.
This didn’t have to be hard. He still had his clearance, and really, could walk right through the gate. And with the right paperwork, could probably roll out of the place with the canisters in the back of a truck.
Maybe.
Take the packages to Lübeck Airport. A plane will be waiting.
He’d gotten the voice mail on his contraband phone when he’d gotten off the plane in Moscow.
And then what? Fly back to Kamchatka and retrieve Shae? In his wildest, denial-was-his-friend dreams.
She wasn’t already dead—he knew that much. They had to keep her alive just in case he wanted proof of life before he handed over the nuclear waste.
But then what? He’d been ticking around that problem for the past nearly twenty-four hours.
Wow, he hated not having an exfil plan.
The sandwich was warm, the water tepid and did nothing to soothe the knot in his gut. But he finished eating, took another long look-see at the facility, then picked up his pack.
A twig snapped behind him, and he whirled around, crouched.
A shadow, and it slipped behind a tree.
He pulled out his KA-BAR. See, this was why he needed a real plan—flying by the seat of his pants only left him half naked, no one watching his six—
“I’d prefer not to be stabbed, thanks.”
Ned stilled—what? He lowered the knife just as—wow. Ned had nothing as Fraser rolled out from behind the tree.
Silence dropped between them, just the terrible thump of Ned’s heart. And the filling of his throat. He swallowed. Put the knife away. Took a breath. “Where have you been?”
“Getting donuts. My nails done. You know.” He smiled, but sadness sat in his eyes. “Sorry I was late.”
